Getting to Rogaine

A truly hair-raising tale.

by Linda Yellin

Photograph: Illustration by Mark Matcho

Randy and I met in our forties, so the first wife got the full head of hair. By the time I showed up, his crop was on the drop. Not that he noticed. Randy’s an optimist, a scalp-is-half-full kinda guy. I couldn’t bring myself to say, “Hey, buddy, we’re losing ground here,” or recommend that it was time to bust out the Norelco (given my beloved’s long face and high forehead, I felt as if I’d be having sex with Homer Simpson)

So I’d casually point out men with thick manes, saying things like “I bet that guy uses Rogaine. I hear it really works.” For more than a year, my comments fell on deaf ears and thinning scalp. Until the day Randy came home from his barber and said, “Sharky suggested I use Rogaine. I think I’ll do that.

Huh? What? That’s all it took? One lousy mano-a-mano moment? But Sharky, bless his snipping soul, spoke up just in time. Sex with Homer is on hold. Maybe I can get Sharky to work on Randy’s sandal collection next.